Valley of Shadows. Shirlee McCoy
“Kidnapping is a serious crime.”
“Kidnapping? Is that what you call this?”
“What would you call it?”
“Returning a favor. You saved my life. Now I’m doing the same for you.”
“It’s hard to believe that’s what you’re doing when you’re pointing a gun at me.”
“Sorry.” Hawke tucked the gun into his jeans.
Miranda eyed the man, the car door, the traffic speeding by. Maybe-
“Whatever you’re thinking, forget it.”
Miranda stiffened, turning to face him again. “I’m not thinking anything.”
“Sure you are. You’re thinking about opening the car door and jumping for it. Or maybe attracting someone’s attention.” Hawke shrugged. “It’s what I’d do if I were in your position.”
“And if I were in your position, I’d stop the car and let my prisoner out.” Miranda tried to sound less scared than she felt.
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“Then what am I?”
“The newest member of the witness protection program.”
SHIRLEE MCCOY
has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Maryland and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com.
Valley of Shadows
Shirlee McCoy
This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it.”
—Jeremiah 6:16
To Jude—musician, budding scientist, young man
of God. May the path God has set for you be clear, may your faith be strong and may you always know just how much I love you and just how proud I am to be your mother.
To Jeannine Case. Piano teacher extraordinaire.
Thank you for all the years of hard work and dedication you’ve given to your craft. May every day, every moment be filled with joy and every memory one to cherish.
To Ms. Dawn of Docksiders Gymnastics
in Millersville, Maryland, who gives children wings and teaches them to fly. What you do really does matter.
And to Melissa Endlich. Editor. Cheerleader.
Conference buddy. I promise I’m not going to say one more word about redheads, or knights or even accountants! Maybe.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
The warm September day had turned chilly with sunset, the brisk air heavy with approaching rain. Miranda Sheldon shivered as she stepped outside of her three-story town house, goose bumps rising on her bare arms as clammy coolness seeped through her cotton T-shirt. A jacket would have been a good idea, but she’d been in a hurry to escape the house. Grabbing one had been the last thing on her mind and, as much as she knew she’d probably regret it, she wouldn’t return for one now. Not when her sister Lauren was there.
And not when memories filled every corner, sorrow every silent room.
Instead, she moved quickly, setting a rapid pace, hoping it would warm her as nothing else had in the past few days. People milled around her as she hurried down the busy Essex street. Many she recognized as patrons of the small bakery she owned. A few called out to her, some offering quiet condolences before moving on to whatever they’d planned for Friday night. Their words echoed in her ears, whispered through her head and lodged in her throat, nearly choking her with their potency. Comfort, sympathy. She wanted neither. What she wanted was to rewind the clock, to change the past, to make different choices that would lead to different outcomes.
But, of course, she couldn’t do any of those things. All she could do was grieve and move on with a life that seemed empty and void.
Two blocks down and around a corner, the neighborhood grew quiet, the sounds of traffic and voices muted, the busy Maryland town hushed. Miranda hesitated at the top of a cul-de-sac, the darkness not able to hide the truth of where her walk had taken her. Not just any street. Not just any place. This was where she’d spent the better part of two days. A place where she’d greeted those who’d come to share her sorrow. A place that she’d be happy to walk away from and never see again.
Earlier, the lawn of the huge Greek revival had gleamed brilliant emerald in the sunlight. Now, it was a blanket of shifting shadows, the half-bare trees that lined the driveway skeletal. Light glowed from the lower level of the building, but the remainder of the house was dark, the tall windows eerie in the moonlight. At night, more than any other time, Green’s Funeral Home looked like what it was—a place for the dead.
Miranda shivered, but moved forward anyway, knowing that she couldn’t turn back now. She hadn’t planned to come, but she was here and maybe it was for the best. If someone was still working at the funeral home, she might get a chance to say a final goodbye. A private goodbye. It was the last opportunity she’d have before the burial. She couldn’t pass it up.
The foyer of the building was brightly lit and visible through the panes of glass on either side of the door. Miranda knocked, then twisted the knob. It was locked as she’d expected, the funeral home empty. She should go home, finish the baking she was doing for the funeral and check over the list of things that had to be ready before tomorrow. That was the practical thing to do. But with her nephew Justin gone, practical didn’t seem quite as important as it once had been. Nor did home seem the comfortable place she’d thought it to be. Maybe once Lauren returned to her work and travels, Miranda could return to the quiet life she’d built for herself.
Maybe, but she didn’t think